


Dog()

by _digital cairn (Schemilix)



Series: Become() [5]
Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schemilix/pseuds/_digital%20cairn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sybil gets a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog()

The top of the tower is an imposing place, though the long elevator trip upwards, in a small space, does nothing for Sybil’s nerves. Why are people always at the top? Well - she knows why Royce is. As hard to get to as possible, and keeping the Process where it has nowhere to run but down.  
She adjusts her hat as she steps out. People are Sybil’s profession, and yet Bracket wouldn’t ask for her unless there were a problem, and nobody likes to make a habit of problems.   
The door is already open when she walks through and says,  
“I’m here, Royce. What’s up?” with a feigned confidence to the man standing by the desk. With the light behind him his face is obscured, and he raps the fingers of one hand in a staccato on the wood.  
“Up? Well. A - gift of sorts, to a new ally,” Royce says. “Come in, come in. Close the door if you would.”  
Doing as told, Sybil clicks the door in its latch by turning the handle - something in here begs silence, and the heels of her shoes sound too loud against the tiled floor. A gift?   
 _Well, gifts are good, but cats use dead birds for gifts -_  Sybil cuts the uncharitable thought off before it can show on her face, and then looks up. Standing by Royce, up to his thigh, is a dog. Not just any dog - one of the dog-like Process - gold rather than white, wagging her tail as if she were real. Man’s best friend.   
“A Process?” Sybil asks, with undisguised confusion. She folds her hands over her chest when the Process approaches and cocks her sleek head in greeting.  
Royce says, “A little unorthodox, you understand. I can - well - I can put her back, in. Where she came from, if you don’t want her - but she is quite safe. Quite safe.”  
He even steps forward as if he might call the creature back, but Sybil waves him down again, so he pauses with his hands knitted together and a questioning look in his eyes.  
“No, don’t do that, hon,” Sybil says, and sighs. “I can take care of her. I have to ask though - Why?”  
“Well - I - was always more of a dog person. Than a cat person, you understand? I should even the odds.”  
For a long moment Sybil looks at Royce, twisting her lip in thought. Then she crouches down beside the Process with a wry smile. Slowly she reaches for it, and when neither Process nor Royce warn again it, she strokes the dog’s head. The gold is like velvet over the metal, close enough to fur to pretend - and warm, like skin. Are all the Process that mimic life this way, or was this Royce’s doing?  
“Me too,” she says at length. “Can I name her?”  
“Well, she’s yours. Now, if you want her.”  
“You were the one who told me not to name Process. You said it would - empower them, right, or make you attached? Sorry if I forgot by now, you say a lot of strange things. You’re the Process guy that’s all I need to know, don’t touch ‘em, don’t name ‘em.”  
“Names are - ah - special, the Process does not distinguish as - such between its components but this - this particular one, is different. I made it different. For - you I suppose. She won’t die, you know, and if she gets hurt, well, she’ll pop right out of her Cell again as good as new.” Royce’s hands move sharply in a gesture - pop - and even mimic a little creature running for a moment, before he drops them back to his side. “No puppy though, sadly. I’d care for her myself but… well, nurturing was not my, you could say not my forte.”  
Sybil looks at the dog, this unique Process that bounces on her paws with a little whine of impatience. “I think you sell yourself short, Royce.”  
“No, no. Modesty was never my strong suit either.”  
At that Sybil can only laugh, though after a moment her smile fades as her brow furrows. “You never needed it! Wait. She won’t make me sick, will she?”  
“No,” Royce replies, with calm confidence, but then continues, “Well, I think not - no. Probably. I took measures. Say, when you take her you should - keep her safe. No need to tell Grant he might not. Approve of how I’ve been tinkering with the Process outside of our little, ah, initiative. Might take her… away. Your backdoor, maybe.”  
With that Royce turns away from her to walk back behind the desk, pulling a pen from his breast pocket as he does. That’s her cue, it seems - Sybil gestures for the dog to follow her as she makes to leave the recluse in peace.  
Sybil says, “So that’s your gift - a secret! One of yours - and one of mine, however you knew about my little getaway.”  
Royce turns back to her with a hum of curiosity. Sybil, with her hand on the door handle explains,  
“Well, you know. Secrets, they bring you closer. Secrets are my currency in the job I do for us.” Sybil taps the side of her nose as she pushes the door open for the dog to leave first, with a skittering of metallic paws. “She’s lovely, Royce. I’ll call her Delphine.”

**Author's Note:**

> As for why I named the dog what I did, the greatest sybil was said to be from Delphi. I’m figuring Luna wasn’t her name to begin with.


End file.
